


Maybe We've Lost Our Minds

by gorilla_glue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Harry/Ginny and Hermione/Victor are in the background, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-01-29 03:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorilla_glue/pseuds/gorilla_glue
Summary: The Wizarding World has changed. There's no denying that, as much as people like to try. Voldemort is dead, for good this time. Most people have gone on to live their lives as if nothing happened.Ron hasn't. He's tried, but his world is upside down. His best friends have never felt farther away from him. They've got their own lives to deal with, and for once, he doesn't want to bother them. His childhood bully won't stop trying to reach out to him. And, even though Ron hates him, something is drawing him to see what he wants.Draco hasn't either. His father is dead, has been for nearly a year. And now that he's gone, all Draco wants to do is live his life the way he wants. That's proving to be harder than it seems.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley, George Weasley & Ron Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	1. ONE (Ron)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm sorry if I get any words wrong. I don't know British English well at all. 
> 
> Also, POVs will be alternating between Ron and Draco each chapter, if you didn't get that from the summary. Just wanted to make sure that was clear,

Ron wasn’t a heavy drinker, but he gladly swallowed down a third pint of firewhisky late one Friday night, only hours after his best friend and little sister got married. He wanted to get drunk so he wouldn’t have to think about what they might have been doing.

He wouldn’t have been drinking if Hermione were there. He didn’t drink around her. But he didn’t think it would be appropriate to invite his ex-girlfriend to a drink on the second anniversary of their breakup. (Yes, he kept track.)

He missed her, but even he could tell that she and Viktor were made for each other. But ever since they had broken up, their friendship had been different. They didn’t talk nearly as much, and they certainly bickered much less. He missed it.

And Harry. Merlin, where did he start with Harry? They were still best friends, but something small had changed between them when he and Ginny got together. Maybe that was just Ron, though. They seemed happy enough together, so he had learned how to be fine with it.

He glanced up and down the bar. Nobody he recognized. Good. They wouldn’t see him trying to get drunk alone on a Friday night after the Boy Who Lived married his sister. 

The door creaked open and a burst of laughter drifted inside. Ron was directly in front of the door, so he had to completely turn around to see who it was. And when he did, his stomach dropped.

They weren’t his least favorite people (that privilege went to Voldemort if you could call him human) but they were pretty damn close. 

“Draco, look who it is,” Pansy Parkinson said, sitting on one side of Ron. Draco sat on the other.

“Can’t quite tell, Pansy. Let me think for a second,” Draco said. He pretended to scrutinize Ron as if he were a painting. “Red hair, scruffy, getting wasted alone on a Friday night. He must be a Weasley.”

“Which one, though?” Pansy asked. “Can’t tell any of them apart.”

Ron was almost happy to hear that Pansy and Draco hadn’t changed, at least. They were still the same spoiled brats who thought they were funny. It was comforting, in a way, to know that they hadn’t changed. And their teasing didn’t even bother him anymore. He wasn’t thirteen years old anymore.

Draco stopped laughing. Apparently, Pansy had taken the joke farther than he wanted. Or he just couldn’t think of anything to say, and he was upset that she got the last word.

“So, Weasel, why did Harry and Ginny rush the wedding? We’ve got bets going. I say Ginny was just too eager to have a whole bushel of kids like Molly. Pansy think she’s already pregnant and is just trying to hide it,” Draco said, grinning at Ron.

Anger surged through him. He didn’t doubt that they were making bets. Hearing Draco talk about his family like that made him want to cast all kinds of curses. He curled his hand around the wand in his pocket.

“She’s obviously pregnant. The little whore probably couldn’t wait to get her pants off for Harry. Plus, did you see how fat she looked at the proposal?” Pansy said.

“You shut your mouth about my sister,” Ron snapped. "She's not a whore any more than you are, Pansy."

He knew he would most likely regret losing his temper, but right now, he didn't care. 

"Excuse me?" she said, standing up. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," Ron said.

"Yeah, we did. And you'll take that back because Pansy will never be like any of your family," Draco said.

Ron pulled out his wand and stood up. Draco did the same. "Make me," he said. 

"Hey, you two!" the woman behind the bar said. "Take it outside. I don't want to see this."

Ron turned and stomped out of the bar, into the cold air. His thin jacket wasn't good protection against the winter at all, but right now, it didn't matter. All that mattered was putting Draco in this place.

But then Draco walked out of the bar and Ron had a rare moment of self-awareness. He was generally pretty self-aware, just not when he was angry.

But standing on the sidewalk staring at Draco, he deflated. What in Merlin’s name was he doing? He was a grown man, about to fight an old classmate because he couldn’t control his temper. While he quite enjoyed a good fight, he had to grow up at some point. Harry and Hermione and his family would probably be so disappointed if they found out. He wasn’t a kid anymore.

“You still wanna fight me, Weasel?” Draco sneered, holding out his wand. 

“No, Malfoy,” Ron muttered. “Why do you still do this, though? What do you get out of tormenting people? It’s not going to make people like you. The only attention you get from it is negative.” He paused to take a deep breath to stop tears that were welling up in his eyes for some reason. “We’re not even in school anymore. You have nothing to gain from being a prick anymore.”

Before Draco could respond, he turned and walked away, into the night. 

Ron had no idea what came over him. It was almost as if he had channeled Hermione just to tell Draco off. Now he was left feeling lonely and empty again. Maybe he had too much to drink.

Either way, he had to get off the street. He really didn’t want to go to his cold, lonely flat. Maybe he could Floo to the Burrow, just for the night. Except then his mum would want to know why he was staying there. He also didn’t really want to stay at his childhood home right now.

He could Floo to Diagon Alley, maybe stay the night with George. He wouldn’t question anything. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

Ron turned and walked back to the bar. Pansy was nowhere to be seen, thank Merlin. But Draco was sitting at the bar, staring at his mug of butterbeer. His head shot up when Ron walked in.

“Ron,” Draco said, grabbing his sleeve. “Can I… talk to you?” 

Ron blinked at him. “Whatever you have to say, it better not take more than five minutes.”

Draco sighed. “I’m…” He looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I just wanted to apologize.”

Ron scoffed and turned away, to the bartender. “Do you have a fireplace I could use? It’s an emergency.”

The bartender sighed. “Through the back. Don’t dally in there or you’re out for good, you hear?”

He nodded and rushed into the back, away from Draco. All he had to do was talk to George. That’d clear his head. 


	2. TWO (Draco)

Draco stared at his mug of butterbeer, trying to calm his breathing and stop his hands from shaking. He had to stop. He had to calm down. What would people say if they saw him acting like that? Nothing good, that’s for sure.

Maybe nobody was looking at him. That was probably the case. Nobody cared, he told himself. Nobody was watching. 

Maybe someone was, though. He wouldn’t know unless he looked up from his mug. Did he want to know? Yes, of course, he did. That way, if there was nobody watching him, he could get the thought out of his head. But at the same time, what if there was? What would he do? He would figure something out, he told himself. But there was probably nobody.

He looked up to glance around the room and saw an older man looking warily at him. Draco contorted his face into the nastiest scowl he could muster until the man frowned and looked away. Good. That was dealt with. But the thought wouldn’t leave his head.

Pansy finally made her way out of the bathroom, frowning. 

"I ran into Weasley on my way out," she said, sitting down and taking a long sip of her drink. Too long for Draco. He had to know what she was going to say about Ron. Did he, for some reason, tell Pansy that Draco had apologized?

“And?” Draco said, a little more harshly than intended. She frowned.

"Oh, he just looked like he was going to be sick or something. What did you say to him?"

"Nothing important," Draco said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Pansy to know that he had tried to apologize, and worse, got rejected. She would think he was crazy. 

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a minute, Pansy drumming her fingers on the bar. Draco opened his mouth as if to say something before closing it a few times.

He felt off, more unsure of himself and more self-conscious than normal. Pansy didn’t seem to notice, though, so at least it wasn’t obvious. As long as it wasn’t obvious, he could pretend to be fine. Even if he wasn’t.

For some reason, he felt absolutely terrible about what he said to Ron. It wasn’t even close to the nastiest thing he had said, but the more he thought about it, the more it felt like it. 

Maybe it was because when Ron told him off, he hit quite a nerve. Draco knew that he had nothing to gain from any of what he said, but he still said it. It was as if Ron had seen right into his core. And he didn’t like that one bit.

“Pansy, can I ask you something?” he blurted. She tilted her head at him and he mentally kicked himself. Why would he say that? 

“What?” she asked, furrowing her brow at him. He had to think of something to ask instead of his real question.

“How’s your owl?” Judging by Pansy’s reaction, he should have thought of something better. Maybe trying to explain himself would help.“I’m just curious because I want to know if it’s okay so you’ll be able to owl me if you have to or-”

“My owl’s fine,” she said curtly, cutting off his nervous rambling. “But I should get going now. This was fun.”

They said their goodbyes, then she paid for her drink and left. Draco was alone.

He let out a long breath and glanced around again. The few people left were engrossed in their own conversations or thoughts. His heart was still hammering in his chest from almost slipping up and asking Pansy his real question.

He wanted to ask her if she ever felt bad for all the things they had said and done. He certainly did, but he didn’t want her to know. That would seem weak, and Malfoys weren’t weak.

At least, that’s what his father had always told him. And his father wasn’t wrong, even if he seemed like it at the time. In the end, he was always right. 

Well, there were some exceptions, but Draco would never admit that if someone, for some reason, asked him. 

For example, he was wrong about Malfoys not being weak. Either Draco secretly wasn’t a Malfoy, or he was an exception to his father’s rule.

Because he was weak. He couldn’t even be told off by an old classmate without nearly spiraling in public. 

And that wasn’t even the half of it. Throughout his whole time at Hogwarts, he had done so many things that his father would have been ashamed about if he found out. He couldn’t even listen to the most dangerous person in the Wizarding World and kill Dumbledore.

Draco shook his head to try to clear out thoughts of the war. That wasn’t happening. Not here, at least. He had to pull himself together. 

“Hey,” the bartender said. His head snapped up to stare at her. “I’ve got to close up. Do you want to pay for your tab now or just leave it?”

“I’ll just leave it,” he said cooly. At least he could still act normal. He still remembered how to put up his mask, after all.

She nodded, and he finished the last of his butterbeer before leaving the pub.

It seemed colder than it had when he had almost dueled with Ron. That felt like both hours and seconds ago to Draco.

Regardless of how long ago it was, the cold took him by surprise and he shoved his already-numb fingers into his pockets. 

There weren’t many other people outside, just a few drunks staggering home and a group of nervous-looking teenagers. Draco paid no mind to any of them. He just kept walking.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he wanted to go somewhere. He wasn’t ready to Apparate back to Malfoy Manor and deal with his mother.

He loved her, but ever since the death of his father, she had become more and more difficult to be around. She had taken to hugging Draco close to her and crying into his shoulder, or staring at a wall for long stretches of time.

It wasn’t like he could blame her, but still, just being around her was draining. Being around her reminded him that his father was dead, which in turn reminded him that nobody was controlling him anymore, and he didn’t like to think about that.

So, as he wandered aimlessly in the cold night, he didn’t think about that. He thought about the trees and the pavement and the sky, and for some unknown, infuriating reason, Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read and left feedback on the last chapter! It's certainly appreciated!
> 
> Also, since this is the first fic I've posted, I'm still getting used to tagging everything. Please, don't be afraid to let me know if I've tagged something wrong.


	3. THREE (Ron)

It took Ron an embarrassing amount of time to find the small amount of Floo powder he kept on him. By the time he did, he was considering just Apparating to George’s shop. But he didn’t really like Apparating, and he didn’t want to catch George too off-guard. He also didn’t want to deal with the potential complications, so Flooing was the best way to go about things. 

When he finally stepped through the fireplace, the only thing George did was look up from the parchment he was scribbling on. He didn't jump, or yell, or act startled at all.

"Hello, Ron," he said. "What're you doing here?"

Ron stood for a second. What  _ was _ he doing there? He should've gone home.

He couldn't have gone home. For some reason, the thought of being alone filled him with something close to terror. What was wrong with him?

"I need someone to talk to," he said finally. George shrugged and set his parchment and quill on the small table in front of his chair.

"Alright. I'm just figuring out my accounts before bed. Do you want to sit?"

"Mind if I use the toilet first?" he said. George shrugged again and Ron made his way to the small bathroom.

He didn't have to go, but he just had to clear his head a little. He didn’t want to break down in front of George. 

After locking the door, he splashed a little water on his face, took a deep breath, and stared above the sink. 

The mirror was covered in heavy, dark cloth. Maybe it was broken, and George hadn’t gotten around to fixing it.

Ron pulled the cloth back just to check and saw that the mirror was fine, other than a thick layer of dust. He stared at himself and tried to work it out.

Maybe he had gotten so lazy that just putting something over it was easier than cleaning it. Or maybe he put that there so he wouldn’t break it by mistake. Or maybe he had gotten so insecure all of a sudden that he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror. Or maybe-  _ oh _ .

Even Ron was amazed at how stupid he could be sometimes.

He stared at himself and tried to imagine what it would be like to see Fred looking back at him. It hurt his stomach to think about. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like for George, considering how close he and Fred were. 

Ron already missed Fred every single day. The pain hadn’t gotten any better, but it had gotten easier to deal with. 

He wasn’t sure if that was the case with George. He seemed normal enough, but not the same. He was quieter and more serious. He didn’t laugh much at all anymore. He still had the shop, but he didn’t really pull his pranks anymore. Maybe he was just growing up.

Ron sighed and made his way out of the bathroom, and sat in a chair next to George. It was a little hard to look at him sometimes without seeing Fred. Especially when he thought about him, like he was now. 

They were their own person and had always been. Ron knew that. But still. When they would purposefully pretend to be the other one and finish each other’s sentences nearly every other time, it was easy to forget sometimes. It had been, at least. 

When George lost his ear it was harder to mix them up, unless you couldn’t see his left side. But they still acted nearly the same. 

“So,” George said. “Why are you here? Not that I don’t like seeing you, of course. It’s just a little late, that’s all.”

Ron took a deep breath and shoved thoughts of Fred out of his mind. He could think about him later. “I’m not really sure. I ran into Malfoy and he was a git as always. Said some foul things about Ginny and I told him off.”

“Oh, good for you,” George said, bouncing his knee. “What did he say?”

“He and his friend said she was a whore and brought Mum into it. We almost dueled outside but I decided not to.” George frowned, though Ron wasn’t sure at what part. Hopefully the part about what Draco and Pansy said. He didn’t want to George to bother him about stepping down.

“Oh,” was all George said. Ron nodded slowly. “What did you think of the wedding?”  
Ron was taken a bit off guard by the question. Was George really asking him about a wedding? He didn’t really mind, it just seemed out of character.

“Oh, it was nice. I’m glad Mum was able to control herself for most of it.”

“I was pretty surprised by that. I can’t believe Ginny is married,” George said. “Fred and I had a bet going on who would be next. I said it would be you, and he knew it would be Ginny.”

Ron swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure he could handle hearing about “Why me? And why did Fred think it was going to be Ginny?”  
“I thought it would be you when you and Hermione got together. You had been in love with her long enough to skip dating, I said. And Fred said the same about Ginny and Harry.”

“I guess Fred was right,” Ron said. 

George took a deep breath. “How much longer do you think you want to stay? I was about to head to bed because I open early on Saturdays. I’d just like to know.”

“Oh, I was going to leave soon,” Ron said. “So I’ll go now. Thanks for letting me talk.”

“Anytime. Owl me if you need anything.”

Ron waved goodbye and Apparated onto the street. He saw the light above the shop go out and looked around. He was alone. 

Talking to George helped, even if he didn’t stay for long. But now he had a new ache because he was thinking about Fred. 

He sat on the curb and buried his face in his cold hands. For some reason, he had taken to composing letters in his head. He never sent any of them, but they were relaxing in a way. The one he wrote that night was to Hermione.

_ Hello, Hermione. I hope you enjoyed the wedding. I did. Say hello to Viktor for me the next time you see him. _

_ I saw Malfoy today, and for once I was able to keep my head from blowing off. Well, I did tell him off but at least I didn’t throw out any curses! _

_ I think you would have been proud of what I said. I told him he had nothing to gain from being a bully anymore and it wasn’t a way to get people to like him. Then he tried to apologize to me, which was odd.  _

_ Another odd thing is that Ginny and Harry got married. It’s probably not as odd to you, because she’s not your sister. But still, I can’t believe Harry is married. I hope I’m not the only one who feels this way. _

_ That’s all I have to say this time. Again, I hope you’re well.  _

For some reason, all of Ron’s mental letters were much more formal and composed than any of the ones he actually sent. Maybe it was because he didn’t think about the real ones too much. He just scribbled down whatever he needed to say and sent it off. 

He took a deep breath of the cold air. It burned his lungs just a little and felt good. 

The night was quiet. Nobody else was outside. Most people were probably sleeping, and he should have been as well. 

He was just about to Apparate home when he heard a sharp crack and a few loud footsteps from around a corner somewhere.


	4. FOUR (Draco)

Draco started running when he Apparated into Diagon Alley. He hadn’t even meant to, it was just the first place he could think of. He was usually better at thinking under pressure.

He was also usually better at not panicking when somebody may or may not have been following him. They had only turned the same corners as him three or four times.

But he was better safe than sorry, right? His father wasn't the most well-liked man in quite a few corners of wizarding Britain, though he never admitted it. 

And though Draco wasn't his father, a lot of that scrutiny fell on him as well. Not that he could be too upset about that. He went along with everything his parents did, for better or for worse. 

So maybe he was paranoid. So what? He could easily hold his own in a duel, but he didn't want to duel at the moment. He wanted to be left alone and stay far away from other people. So he Apparated out of there before he could even think it through.

And it turns out, breaking into a run immediately after Apparating was not a good idea. After taking only a few steps he tripped and fell, landing hard on his hip. 

If he wasn't so dizzy, he would have stood up off of the cold ground and attempted to brush the dirt off of his jacket. But he wasn't quite ready to do that. Plus, the ground felt nice. More comfortable than he thought it would have. 

Maybe he should have gone straight home from the bar. He could have fallen asleep on the ground if he hadn't heard footsteps coming from somewhere behind him.

Scrambling up from the ground with his scraped palms was not easy, but he managed to do it pretty quickly and duck into a small nook. 

Diagon Alley was an interesting choice for his panicked brain to make. It was near deserted at this time of night and year, so maybe it was a good idea. Except it brought back some not-so-pleasant memories, so maybe not.

Draco held his breath and stayed as still as possible as the footsteps drew closer. He was pretty well hidden. Unless somebody poked their head into the slim alley he was in, he would be fine.

"Lumos," the person muttered. A light shone from around the corner. It barely reached the ground in front of the nook.

He relaxed a bit until the light began to move closer. 

It was probably just some shop owner who was curious about the noise, but the voice sounded familiar. He could barely hear whoever the person was, and he didn’t really want to find out. If they found him, he was cornered.

He fumbled for the wand in his pocket and pointed it just a bit out of the alley. “Nox,” he whispered, barely audible. The light went out.

“Lumos.” The light was back on, moving closer. 

It was too close now for him to cast Nox again, and sure, he could have cast a nonverbal spell, but what was the point? He was Draco Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake! What was he doing hiding in a nook in Diagon Alley? What would his father have thought of him, if he knew what Draco was up to?

The footsteps paused and the person sighed. “I know someone is out there. Don’t bother putting out my wand again.”

Draco couldn’t place the voice, but he knew it sounded familiar. Infuriatingly familiar. He knew he should have been able to tell who it was, but he couldn’t. All he could tell from it was that it was a man, most likely one he knew. At least, he sounded like someone he knew.

“Or maybe not,” the man said. “Maybe I should admit myself to St. Mungo’s. I could be with Frank and Alice.” He laughed and it clicked in Draco’s brain who it was. 

Of all people, why Ron Weasly? Sure, the wizarding world was fairly small, but not this small! Why couldn’t Draco just shake him? This was the second time seeing him in one night and that was two too many.

Ron’s light moved forward again, and now it was directly outside Draco’s little nook. He held his breath as if Ron was able to hear him. 

During those few moments of fear, Draco reflected on himself. What was he doing with his life? All he did during the day was mope around Malfoy Manor and pretend he was doing something important. 

It’s not like he could just go out into the world like everything was normal. He heard what people said about him, that he was a filthy Death Eater who should have been sent to Azkaban, that he was pathetic, that he was a disappointment to the Malfoy name who didn’t deserve to show his face in public, that he should have died under mysterious circumstances instead of his father.

Okay, maybe those last two were what he said about himself.

But people did say things. He wasn’t crazy. They called him a Death Eater under their breath. He wasn’t deaf. And it hurt because he knew they were right. Even if he just did it because he was scared and wanted to pretend things would be okay if he just listened to his parents, what he did was so wrong that he could barely live with himself.

And the fact that his parents thought that what they did was right was the worst of it. Sure, in the end, they turned against their fellow Death Eaters so they wouldn’t be locked away. But Draco knew that his father had held the ideals close to his heart until the day he died. And his mother wasn’t much better.

Ron sighed, heavily, outside where Draco was standing, and it brought him back to where he was. He had forgotten completely that he was, for some reason, cowering from Ron.

“This has been a strange night,” Ron said to himself as he walked away. Draco was surprised to find himself agreeing.

How long ago had it been when he and Pansy had gone out for drinks? How long had it been since he and Ron had nearly dueled like they were children again? How long had it been since Draco had apologized to Ron? It could have been minutes or hours. Draco wouldn’t know the difference at this point. Time seemed to have sped up considerably since he had seen Ron.

With a start, Draco remembered that he had  _ apologized  _ to Ron. What if he told Harry or Hermione or one of those countless siblings of his? What if it got out? It was unlikely, Draco knew that, and he doubted anyone would care except for the low-level tabloids that preyed on snippets of rumors they thought they might have heard.

Still, even if one single thing was said about it, he would be ruined. He’d lose the few friends he had left, and his mother wouldn’t be able to take any more rumors. 

The smart thing to do would have been to go after Ron, explain to him why the apology had to stay between the two of them, maybe threaten him for good measure.

But something made Draco stay where he was until he couldn’t hear Ron walking anymore. When he finally worked up the courage to step out of the nook, he could just barely see the man walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the gap in updates. As lame of an excuse as it is, something came up in my personal life and I just lost all motivation. Things are better now, so updates will be weekly again.


	5. FIVE (Ron)

Ron’s flat was cold, not that that was anything new. He still wasn’t quite sure how to use the Muggle heating system, and he was too stubborn to ask Harry or Hermione. 

It had been his and Hermione’s flat, back when the war ended. And they didn’t move in together just because they were dating. He had to get out of the Burrow and when he asked Hermione to live with him, she suggested living around Muggles. She thought some exposure to their world would help him. Help him with what, he wasn’t sure. 

Then they broke up, and she moved out. At least she still helped him with things in it, though. She was the one who showed him things like how to pay the rent, and what was and wasn’t considered acceptable to do at certain times of day, and why he should absolutely never mention magic anywhere in it. The walls were too thin for things like that, apparently. 

He didn’t quite get it, and even after living around a bunch of Muggles for years, he still wasn’t particularly fond of the way they lived. There was nothing wrong with them, it was just so  _ boring.  _ How did they live without magic?

It was better than the Burrow, at least, which he never thought he’d say. His flat was lonely, sure. But it was nice to have his own space, and it was nice to be away from the grief that seemed to be in every bit of the house after the war. 

Pulling his coat closer to him, Ron wandered into the back, where his small bedroom was. He wasn’t all that tired, but it was warmer back there than in the front.

What a day. His best friend and little sister got married, he had almost dueled Malfoy and then told him off, and then he had gotten an apology from him. Not to mention the person in Diagon Alley. 

He couldn’t have been imagining that. There was somebody there. He had heard someone Apparate, and someone run, and his wand went out when he tried to use it as a light. 

It could have been anyone. It was probably some random kid who had just learned how to Apparate and wanted to have some fun.

But then why had they hidden? And put out his wand?

He was probably overthinking it, but the interaction was still strange. That whole day had been strange, and although he wasn’t tired, he wanted it to be over. 

Except he couldn’t, because the people in the flat next to him started to fight as soon as he got into bed.

“I don’t know why you come home every night pretending you still love me!” the woman screamed.

“I don’t know why you feel the need to fuck every man in the world that’s not me! How am I supposed to love you through that?” the man yelled back.

This happened nearly every night, and Ron supposed he would have found it funny if it wasn’t happening to him. He just rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head, as if that would help.

“You have no proof of that! I barely leave this bloody flat anymore! You, on the other hand! You-”

He wished he could have just cast a quick silencing charm on both of them and that way he would actually get some sleep. It was too risky, though, which he knew perfectly well. At least he could dream.

“This isn’t about me!” 

“That’s certainly new, isn’t it? I thought everything was always about you!”

Ron was happy with one aspect of his and Hermione’s breakup: they hadn’t fought like this. Sure, they bickered quite a bit, but that was nothing new for the two of them. When things really began to fall apart in their relationship, they didn’t have epic screaming matches or anything like that.

He really should have predicted the fact that they wouldn’t work. He wasn’t sure how they were even friends at times, so how were they supposed to work as a couple? 

Of course, neither of them had cared about that at the time. They had helped defeat Voldemort, why wouldn’t they be able to defeat the issues in their relationship?

Except, as they learned quickly, it didn’t work that way. Looking back on it, though they both made some stuipid mistakes, Ron blamed mostly himself.

His relationship with Hermione was his second ever, if what he had with Lavender counted as a relationship. He moved things faster than they probably should have with Hermione. He was the one who suggested they live together, only months after the war. 

They had been friends since their first year at Hogwarts, why wouldn’t it make sense that their relationship would be able to skip the first few stages and move right into the serious stuff?

Ron wasn’t sure if that was the downfall of it all, but that certainly contributed. Overall, he thought it didn’t work because they just didn’t get along well enough. He never really believed in the whole “opposites attract” thing. And he loved Hermione, but they barely worked as friends. 

Why was he thinking about her so much tonight? He had moved on a long time ago, he didn’t miss her or anything.

Maybe he was just lonely. She was the last person he had been in a relationship with. He hadn’t gone on a single date in the two years since they broke up. So, yes, it was probably just loneliness. 

Harry’s wedding didn’t help much. Sure, he was as happy as he could be for both of them, but the ugly jealousy in him was definitely popping up a bit. 

He wasn’t jealous of Harry’s life anymore. When they first met, of course he was. Here Ron was, with his six siblings and hand-me-down everything, when Harry comes into his life, famous and rich for no good reason. 

Well, he had survived Voldermort as a baby. That’s kind of a good reason for fame.

But, as he got to know him, Ron had seen the toll it had taken on Harry. He had to make himself see it, or it would have destroyed their friendship. He couldn’t keep being jealous of Harry for things out of his control.

Still, a little jealousy was okay every once in a while, right? If it was, Ron felt like this was an appropriate time for it. 

His neighbours were still fighting, though they had moved out of the bedroom and Ron couldn’t understand what they were saying anymore. He slammed a hand on the wall anyway, just to tell them that someone was listening. 

Maybe they knew that. Maybe their fights were some crazy game, and they made them up just to antagonize their neighbours. It could have been all some elaborate power trip.

Or maybe they were just two people stuck in an unhappy relationship. They’d grown used to it, and they were afraid to leave. Sure, their relationship was unhealthy, but it was familiar. 

Or maybe Ron had to stop looking so deeply into the relationships of strangers around him instead of sleeping.


	6. SIX (Draco)

Draco stayed home for a while after that day. Pansy sent him an owl saying they should meet up again; he didn’t respond. 

Malfoy Manor felt suffocating. Since his father’s death, Narcissa had become much more paranoid and anxious. She was constantly fussing over him, and he needed a break. Still, he did try to go easy on her. Her paranoia did make sense, after all. If Lucius had been killed, who’s to say the killer wouldn’t come back for her? Or worse, her son?

So Draco let her fuss, most of the time. He could barely stand to do it, but he let her. She would stop eventually, he figured. When that day would come, though, he didn't know.

Sometimes he had to escape, just for the day. That was the case once, a few weeks after his encounter with Ron. 

“Mother, I’m going out,” he said to Narcissa. She was sitting by the front door like she did most of the time since his father died. When he went to open the door, she leapt up. 

“You have your wand, right? Make sure to have it somewhere you can reach it anytime. If you feel unsafe, just Apparate away,” she said. 

“I know, Mother. I’ll be fine. I’m just going for a walk,” he said. “See you.”

The door slammed harder than it meant to when he closed it. Oh, well. 

He didn’t pace back and forth near his house like he did after his father died. That was too close today. All Draco wanted to do was get far, far away from his home 

He went back to Diagon Alley. Why, he wasn’t sure. It would be populated, which was both a good and bad thing. It was good because that way he wouldn’t have to worry about getting attacked. (His mother _was_ getting to him just a little.) It was bad because he’d have to worry about people who might recognize him. 

It wasn’t as crowded as he was expecting it to be. Still busy, but not too terrible. Manageable. 

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes seemed just as busy as ever, judging the amount of people he watched walk into the store in only a few minutes. Draco had no idea how George was able to keep up with all of the customers without Fred. 

Did he just keep walking and wondering, or did he go inside and just get an answer? It wasn’t important, really. He didn’t care about the Weasleys. There was no need for him to find out. It didn’t matter.

The door squeaked as he pushed it open, and he froze. There were enough people talking, so it couldn’t be heard, which was good.

A few steps into the shop he locked eyes with the person working at the till, who scowled. 

“What’re you doing here, Malfoy?” Ron growled. George, who was clearly showing off a product to a group of excited girls, didn’t even look. But his shoulders did draw up just the smallest bit. 

The door slammed so hard behind Draco that he wanted to check if it cracked. He didn’t, though. 

A few people turned to look at the noise and when they saw him, frowned and walked away, fast.

Idiot! What was he _thinking_, walking right into the shop like that? Why would he do that? Why would he care who was working the till? What he should have done was walk right past the door, not even sparing a thought to whoever was inside.

“Malfoy. What are you doing?” Ron snapped. Draco tried not to jump and turned around.

He was at a complete loss for words. What was he doing? “I- I don’t know.”

Ron narrowed his eyes at him, and Merlin, he wanted to slap himself. He didn’t _know_? What kind of answer was that? He should have just walked away.

“If you want to talk to me, and it seems you do, don’t come here. Owl me.” Ron turned on his heel and stomped back into the shop.

Owl Ron? Why would he do that? A ridiculous proposal, really. Just like Weasley to say that, Draco told himself as he walked down the street.

Except maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe it would be a good idea to have a talk with Ron, just to make sure he didn’t tell anyone about Draco’s little slip-up. That was all it would be, a way to protect the Malfoys’ reputation.

Even though Lucius was dead, Draco could still hear his coaching that was more like boot camp for pureblood society most days. How to stand, how to speak to whom, who _not_ to speak to, when to show he had a wand in reach and when to hide it, who to look in the eye and who to look at his shoes around. 

At the time, as a child, Draco had just thought his father was being obsessive about being polite around whatever important people his parents were hosting. Of course, he realized later that he was being trained to be around Death Eaters without setting any of them off.

Someone’s shoulder slammed into him, and he nearly fell to the ground. Was the whispered accusation that followed of being a blood purist his imagination?

Even if he wasn’t, he had to go somewhere less crowded. It felt like the crowd were closing in on him, like he couldn’t even breathe without touching someone. 

Draco shoved his way into a side alley and took deep, shuddering breaths. When he got home, he would owl Pansy back, set up another meeting. Not that he particularly wanted to, but it would be an excuse to get out of the house and it would maintain normalcy.

After that one delivered, he would send one to Ron. 

He wasn’t sure why exactly he was so much more troubled over his treatment of Ron than Harry. Hermione was a completely different story, one he was still trying to figure out how to unravel.

Ron, though. Ron was easy to apologize to. Well, nobody was easy to apologize to, but he was easier than Harry. It seemed like Harry had moved on with his life just fine, but something about the other man, alone in that pub after his sister’s wedding was familiar to Draco. He looked like he was remembering something, and not a good memory. That’s what was familiar to Draco.

He shook his head suddenly to get out of his thoughts. Was he comparing himself to a _Weasley_? What would his father think?

Why did he still care?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah, there we go. A new chapter, only 4 months after the one before. Great...  
I really am sorry to anyone who reads this in real time. I really do wish I could update more. I have no excuse this time. Just compete lack of motivation, I guess. I want to write, I just can't make myself do it. But I'm getting better at it. I'm going to try and get another chapter out by the end of August, hopefully. Sorry.


	7. SEVEN (Ron)

_ Ronald, _

_ I believe it would be in both of our best interests to meet up. Clear the air between the two of us, so to speak. _

_ If you agree, we’ll meet at The Hog’s Head this Saturday, at noon. If you don’t, just don’t show up. _

_ There’s no need for you to reply to this.  _

_ -Malfoy _

Ron bounced his leg and looked up from the letter, around the room. It wasn’t very busy, and for the last twenty minutes he had been trying to figure out whether or not Draco would want that. 

On one hand, there would be less people to see… whatever was about to happen; but on the other, the less people there were, the more suspicious their meeting might seem.

There was one other thing plaguing Ron, and that was what would happen if Harry and Hermione found out. Even the thought of it made him feel sick.

As it should have, because what was he  _ doing _ ? Hearing Draco bloody Malfoy out? Draco the Death Eater, Draco who called Hermione a slur to her face, Draco who bullied him  _ and _ his best friend all through school? Draco  _ Malfoy _ ?

He stood up, growling, and crumpled the perfect handwriting of the letter. Then, fuming all of a sudden, he strode to the door.

It was already opening when he got there, and Ron paused to let whoever it was get in.

“Oh,” Draco said, eyes wide. “Weasley.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” he snapped, but took a few deep breaths. Losing his cool was not what he did anymore. He wasn’t a child anymore.

“Right,” he said quietly. “Did you find a seat for us?”

“I was leaving,” he said, a snarl plastered on his face. “I don’t know why I even came here.”

“Oh,” he said again. “You came all this way for nothing, then? That’s a shame.”

Ron glared at him. All that cool he had built up went out the window the second Malfoy opened his stupid little mouth. He didn’t want to see the prick, let alone talk to him.

But he  _ had _ gone all this way. At least he could hear the other man out, right? That wouldn’t be so bad, maybe. And he could always just leave. The curiosity was driving him the slightest bit mad.

“Fine,” he hissed, stepping away from the door. “But you should get it over quick, alright? I’ve got places to be.”

Draco nodded, mouth pursed, and trailed behind Ron as he walked back to the table he was at while he was waiting.

“Alright, what do you want?” he snapped, arms crossed. Calm, he should be  _ calmer _ . Deep breaths should help. That’s what Hermione always told him.

Draco crossed his legs, uncrossed them, licked his lips, and stared out the grimy window to the side of their table. He licked his lips again before saying, “Uh.”

Ron wanted to scream. Malfoy has the audacity to call him here even though he had nothing to say? Was this some kind of trap, or sick joke? Was Draco going to try to use the fact that Ron met with him as some kind of blackmail? If so, it wasn’t going to work.

“Are you here to make fun of my sister again? Call me a blood traitor? Just spit it  _ out _ Malfoy,” he said quietly. He wasn’t going to yell or let Malfoy see that this was getting to him. Even though he probably could tell. Ron was never good at hiding his feelings.

“I wanted to ask you to not tell anyone that I apologized to you the other night because I don’t want gossip magazines to find out,” he whispered in a big rush. Ron probably wouldn’t have been able to understand him if he hadn’t grown up in the fast-paced household that he had.

“Huh?”

_ This _ was the reason? This was why Ron had to miss out on helping George with the shop even though Saturdays were his busiest days and the ones he got the most overwhelmed on? This was why he made himself sick the night before trying to figure out if the Death Eaters were coming back? Because Malfoy couldn’t stand to have his stupid pride bruised anymore?

“Get your head out of your ass, Malfoy,” he snapped. Good _ bye  _ to being calm. Draco didn't deserve the decency of something like that. “There’s nowhere left for the Malfoys to fall, you’ll be fine.”

Draco’s nostrils flared and he glanced around before ducking his head. “It’s not for my pride, prick. It’s for my mother.”

Ron wanted to slap Malfoy across the face. His mother was worried about their reputation? What about Ron’s mother, who lost a son and has had to watch the rest of her family fall apart in small ways? What about the mother of every other person who died in the damn war?  
“Oh, boo-hoo, your poor little mum will be just so _sad_,” he said sarcastically, snarling at Draco.

“My mother’s on the verge of going mad,” he hissed. “If she finds out I was talking to a Weasley she’ll lose it.”

Ron tilted his head. Interesting. “Your mother’s losing her mind?”

The little color in it drained out of Draco’s face. When was the last time he went outside? Probably not often, Ron assumed. A little rich boy like him didn’t need to do something as trivial as running errands or getting exercise outside.

He was snapped back to reality when Draco finally cleared his throat and said, quietly, staring down at the sticky table, “Who isn’t?”

It was funny, the feelings that stirred in Ron’s chest. He did  _ not _ feel bad for Malfoy, not in the slightest. Not after everything the man had done.

But he did feel… strange. Draco looked more human than he had in a long time, and Ron didn’t like it. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to be a  _ person _ to Ron. He wasn’t supposed to know anything about his family, or any of his feelings. All he was was someone for Ron to mock, to make fun of, to hate. He wasn’t a  _ person _ like Ron and his friends were.

But he  _ was _ , and Ron didn’t like to think about it. Didn’t like to think about Malfoy feeling things. Didn’t like to think about Malfoy. 

“You should’ve thought about what could happen when you apologized to me,” he muttered, stomach turning. “But… fine, I won’t spill to the tabloids. I’ll keep my lips zipped.”

Draco’s head snapped up, light gleaming in his eyes. “Really?”

Ron scowled. “Yeah, but you’re going to own me one.” He wasn’t sure  _ what _ the favor would be, but it would be useful to have a Malfoy owe him something. 

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Draco said, smile tugging at the very corners of his lips. Ron rolled his eyes and glanced out the window. 

“I’m leaving now,” he said, shoving his chair from the table. If he hurried he’d still be able to get to the shop before rush hour. 

Draco didn’t say anything in response, and Ron didn’t look back as the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I say this everytime, but I'm really so sorry it took so long for a new chapter. Hopefully they'll be coming out a little faster, since I'm starting to get to the part of the story I'm excited about and I feel some more motivation. But still, really sorry.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who leaves kudos or comments, it really means the world to me!


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